The Cybergirl
by Ashtrees
Summary: The Twelfth Doctor and Clara are trying to take part in a little astronaut spotting and arguing about the existence of Moon Mice , when the Tardis picks up a SOS signal from Chelsea, London, 1989 on New Year's Eve. Someone is in distress, but who and what is it?
1. Chapter 1

_I was once as human as you. _

_I miss not feeling the sun on my face, the feel of the wind brushing my cheek; and never having the kiss-on- the- lips he owes me. _

_I remember a Christmas party and singing a song._

_Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…_

**The Tardis, defiantly in the Solar System, but lost in time**

The Doctor was not happy. He had left Clara alone in the console room for less than ten minutes and somehow during his short absence Clara had sent the Tardis tumbling uncontrollably through time and space.

They had been arguing about the existence of mice living on the Moon. The Doctor had left to find a photograph of the mice to show Clara when the Tardis had begun to shake uncontrollably. By the time the Doctor had returned to the console room the shaking had stopped.

"I told you; I told you not to do that," he said accusingly, stabbing a finger in Clara's direction.

Clara was looking dazed and clutching a long-handled feather duster.

"Do what?" she demanded, all wide-eyed innocence. "I didn't do anything."

The Doctor hurried over to the computer, looking for their co-ordinates on the computer. He paused to wipe his index finger over the controls.

"You were destroying my Tardis."

"I was cleaning! And you never told me _not_ to do that!"

The Doctor turned on her, eyes flashing. "Dust, Clara! Dust is an essential component of the controls! And I specifically remember saying to you, "Clara, don't destroy the Tardis while I'm gone!"

Clara waved the duster in the air. "Oh, don't be ridiculous! How can dust be a part of the Tardis?"

The Doctor took a step back, widening his eyes in a sarcastic expression of awe. He had to stoop a little to make eye contact with her.

"Oh, I see," he drawled. "How could I possibly think that I, a 2000 year old Time Lord, knows more about the intricate workings of the Tardis than a chipmunked faced, slip of a girl like you?"

Clara decided to back down. The Doctor could happily spend the rest of time arguing to prove a point, whereas Clara would rather be seen as the more mature one. She gave a low growl of frustration before folding her arms.

"Okay, fine. But, how does dust help the Tardis to work?" She waved her hand at the central column.

The Doctor stood up straight. "How?" he echoed.

"Yes. How?"

The Doctor stepped back from the console, gesturing with his hands. "Well, it – well, it –"

Clara placed a hand on her hip, smiling innocently and enjoying the moment. "Go on."

"Well, the Tardis was working perfectly before you starting dusting and now it isn't!" The Doctor shouted. "It has to be the absence of dust."

"Or perhaps I hit a button?" Clara asked slowly, knowing that it would provoke a volatile reaction.

The Doctor towered over her. "Did you?"

Clara grinned at him. "Nope. So, we're back to the dust, then?"

The Doctor clenched his fists, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling as praying for patience. Then he relaxed slightly.

"Look, Clara, right now you are covered in trillions of microscopic mites. They're all over your skin, in your hair and crawling across your face."

Clara touched her cheek, wearing a look of disgust.

"Imagine what would happen to you if I suddenly vaporized all those mites."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "What?"

The Doctor hesitated. "I don't know. You'd probably fall apart or something. But, they're a part of you, Clara! And the dust mites are an important part of the Tardis."

"So, you're saying that the mites make the Tardis work properly?"

The Doctor nodded. "Exactly! They're…time-mites.. So, from now on, no dusting."

Clara huffed, blowing up her fringe. She shook her head, "So, where are we?"

The Doctor turned back to the controls. "We made a sudden leap through time. We're still halfway between the Earth and the Moon, but we're a little late for astronaut spotting."

Clara peered over his shoulder. "By how much?"

"Hang on." The Doctor snatched the feather duster out of Clara's hand and began to pat it, sending a cloud of dust over the console. The computer made a faint crackling noise. "About twenty years."

Clara pouted, disappointed. "Oh, I was going to say hi to Neil."

"We were both going to say hi to Neil, but that will have to wait." The Doctor was typing away furiously now. His hands danced over the Tardis controls. "I am picking up a very strange signal from London." He slapped down a lever. "Let's go check it out."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The Tardis materialised in the middle of Sloane Square, next to the Venus Fountain.

Clara gasped as she stepped outside into the cold night air. Her feet crunched on the layer of frost spread out across the ground.

"Can you fetch my coat, Doctor?" she called back into the Tardis. She shivered as her breath came out in small clouds. "And my scarf and gloves?"

She walked a little further out into the Square, taking in the surrounding view of restaurants, pubs and hotels. Lights were hanging from the branches of the trees and from the buildings came the cacophony of party noises.

The Doctor locked the Tardis behind him as he came out carrying Clara's coat, scarf and gloves. He threw them at her.

"Merry Christmas, Doctor," Clara said to him, as she shrugged on her coat. "Or New Year's."

"New Year's Eve," the Doctor confirmed. "1989. Boring year."

"Apart from that mysterious signal. What was that?"

The Doctor wandered over to the fountain, stepping up onto the pool's low wall. In its centre was a sculpture of Venus, the goddess of love and beauty, in a kneeling pose on a large basin. The basin itself was decorated with a relief of Charles the Second and Nell Gwynn sitting by the Thames, with the inscription, "Sweet Thames run softly, till I end my song."

"Doctor? The signal?"

The Doctor turned and hopped down from the wall.

"It was a distress signal, of sorts," he said softly, turning about on the spot with hands thrust deep into his coat pockets. "A series of closely timed power cuts in the Chelsea-Kensington area. Nine to be exact. The first three only lasted exactly one minute and were only one minute apart. The next three lasted two minutes and were only two minutes apart. Then the final three power cuts went back to being sixty seconds in duration with sixty second breaks. What does that tell you?"

Clara blinked, thinking for a moment before answering, "I'm not sure, but that sounds like –"

"Exactly," the Doctor smiled grimly. "SOS. The Tardis is programmed to pick up distress signals, messages, even cryptic ones. To see part of London blinking on and off in a "Help me" sign, stood out to her like a pink harky standing in a herd of yills ." He patted the time machine fondly, grinning at his own joke.

Clara stared at him. "Yeah, I've no idea what either of those things are. So, how do we find the person who sent the signal? If they're in trouble they might not be able to come to us."

"I shouldn't worry about that, Clara," the Doctor said, suddenly serious. He was staring hard over her shoulder. "I think that they will defiantly come to us."

Clara spun round. Somewhere in the gloom, beyond the fountain, there was a shadowy figure heading towards them; the figure was tall and imposing with a long dark coat flapping in the wind.

"Hello," the Doctor called. "You don't look very distressed."

"That is because I hide it well," the man replied gruffly. "I feel that I should say happy New Year's Eve, but –" He pulled back his sleeve to study his watch, holding up one finger to silence them.

From the across the square Clara could hear a countdown being shouted out drunkenly. After ten seconds there was a collective almighty cheer. Fireworks exploded above them and then the wailing of Auld Lang Syne began.

The man covered his watch back up and smiled thinly at them. "But, I feel that happy New Year's would be more appropriate now. So, Happy New Year to you both."

He shook Clara's hand first. She could see that he was a man in his late thirties, with ash blonde hair and worry lines crossing his face. He held out his hand to the Doctor, but it was ignored.

"Who are you?" the Doctor demanded. "And why did you send out a SOS?"

The man dropped his hand back to his side. "My name is Detective Inspector John Vincent Harding. And it wasn't me who sent the signal, _Doctor_, it was my daughter. Please, we need your help."

"Why?" asked Clara. "What's wrong with her?"

Harding looked down at the ground, shuffling from foot to foot. When he looked up again his eyes were wet. "You'd better see for yourselves. Will you come?"

"Yes," said Clara.

"No," said the Doctor at the same time.

He took hold of Clara's elbow and whirled her around so that their backs were to Harding.

"This obviously a trap and you want to go?" he hissed, his Scottish accent becoming heavier.

"It's too obvious to be a trap," Clara whispered back. "Why would anyone think that we would be stupid enough to walk into a trap this obvious? Therefore it's not a trap."

"Because you don't think a trap this obvious could be a trap! And that's why you're walking straight into it."

Clara rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, you love all this."

They were interrupted by Harding's voice shouting, "Bobby, get back in the car!"

Clara looked up. There was a girl hurrying across the square, wrapped up in a thick, trailing scarf pulled up over her nose and mouth; she wore a large woolly hat pulled down low. She had an unusual gait: her shoulders were held stiff and tense, while her head wobbled a little. She was marching, lifting each jean-clad leg up high before placing it on the ground and lifting the other. It gave Clara a little chill just to watch her.

Clara sensed the Doctor tensing up beside her. Harding jogged over to his daughter, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"You should have waited in the car," he muttered.

The Doctor looked down at Clara. "Tell me, Clara, what is that girl _not_ doing?"

"What?"

"Oh, come on. We've been here before," the Doctor replied, and he gave a large _hoff_, momentarily veiling his features behind a white cloud of breath before it melted away into the air.

"Breathing," Clara answered. "Is she a robot?"

But, the Doctor was beside Harding now. He propelled the detective aside before placing a hand on Bobby's scarf. When she didn't react the Doctor pulled it away from her face, or he would have done if she still had her face.

Her body was the body of an average sixteen year old. But, her head was that of a Cyberman, melded onto the teenager's neck that looked too thin to support the steal head. The coloured lights of the fireworks above were reflected in the metal's smooth surface.

"Help me, Doctor."

The voice was harsh and electronic, but the pleading was clear to hear. The Doctor's face softened.

"I will do my best," he promised.


End file.
